


Preparation

by RichardGraysonPercyJackson



Series: I'm Sorry [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bulimia, Depression, Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Prequel, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Vomiting, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 08:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18149729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichardGraysonPercyJackson/pseuds/RichardGraysonPercyJackson
Summary: An insight to Dick's week of preparation for death*Prequel to I'm Sorry**PLEASE READ TAGS*





	Preparation

Dick wiggled his pen between his fingers, head held in his other hand as he stared down at the blank paper.

Damian. That’s all that was written. He let out a loud breath, tossing the pen away. Why was this so hard? It was just a damn apology.

_ It’s because you’re a coward.  _ His mind whispered to him.  _ Writing this makes it real. The moment those words are on paper, there is no going back. _

Dick stared at the stack on envelopes already addressed and sealed that sat on the table. It wasn’t hard because he’d already written five. Why was Damian’s so hard?

“It’s not like this will break him,” Dick whispered, picking up the pen again and pressing it to paper, only to immediately pull it away. “He called me a circus freak. A...well, a freak in general. He’s always hated me, he’ll be glad I’m gone.”

But there was something in the back of Dick’s head that told him he was wrong. Something-

He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock on the front door. Sighing, he tossed the pen away and grabbed his wallet, opening the door and exchanging money for a small box of pizza, thanking the man before closing and locking the door.

The moment he took a bite, he felt like he was going to be sick. But he forced it down anyway. He only had to eat long enough to make it to his chosen date.

June twenty-fifth. He was going to die the same day his parents did. The same  _ way  _ his parents did. He only had to eat for four more days since he was planning to cut himself off three days before The Day.

Just like he was going to cut Slade and Midnighter off three days before the chosen day. He’d just have to do it in a way they wouldn’t notice. That was the only thing he was a little worried about. Both of them were high strung in their own right and if he tried to cut them off with no explanation, they’d be at his door in seconds.

They’d ruin  _ everything  _ he’d spent the last twenty years working towards.

He forced another slice of pizza down his throat and tried to ignore the nausea he felt climbing back up. Not that it mattered. He couldn't keep anything down anymore. Eating always resulted in throwing up agan. Either Dick forcing himself, or his body expelling everything.

_ Maybe.  _ He thought as he curled around his stomach, breathing heavily to try and keep back the vomit.  _ Maybe I’m having trouble writing Damian’s letter because I don’t know what to say? _

_ Or.  _ The dark part of his mind chimed in.  _ Because you know he won’t read it and that would be a waste of words. _

Dick groaned softly, pressing his forehead to his knees as his stomach heaved.  _ I won’t throw up.  _ He snapped at himself.  _ I won’t.  _

His stomach disagreed and in a moment, he was running to the bathroom and heaving violently. It was, frankly, disgusting.

Once he’d finished, he collapsed onto the cold tile and rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. The taste of bile mixed with pizza was probably the worst thing he’d ever had in his mouth and so he forced himself upright to rinse and brush.

Once done, he found himself back at the kitchen table. Back in front of the blank paper that said nothing more than ‘Damian’.

He was startled out of his musings by his phone buzzing loudly on the counter. Cursing as his stomach rolled when he moved too quickly, Dick grabbed the phone and answered breathlessly.

“Hello?”

_ “What are you doing?” _

Dick rolled his eyes, slumping back in his seat. “Really? You couldn’t just text me?”

_ “I did _ ,” Slade confirmed.  _ “You didn’t answer.” _

Dick winced, glancing at the clock. He’d been trying to write Damian’s note for near three hours now.

“Sorry,” he said, playing it off as silly, stupid Dick Grayson. Everyone seemed to fall for that act. “Lost track of time. I was watching a movie.”

Slade hummed quietly before saying in a low, ominous tone.  _ “Do you really think I’m going to believe that?” _

Dick wondered if Slade could hear his heart beating wildly out of his chest, but he managed to keep his cool as he replied.

“Yeah,” he said easily, letting laughter and a smile slip into his words. “Because it’s the truth. I’ve never been able to lie to you without you figuring it out, you know that Slade.”

That wasn’t a lie. Dick had only gotten better at lies though, once he’d realized Bruce never paid much attention to him if he played stupid Dick Grayson.

No one paid attention to stupid, ditzy Dick Grayson. The whore and playboy-in-training.

_ “That, at least, is truth,”  _ Slade mused.  _ “What movie?” _

“The Princess Bride.” another lie slid off Dick’s tongue, smooth like silk. 

_ “Alright,”  _ Slade said slowly. His voice gave away nothing.  _ “When’s your next counseling session with Dr. Marcus?” _

“Not that that’s any of your business,” Dick said slowly. “But the next and last one’s Friday.”

Slade was very very silent and Dick cursed himself. Had he revealed too much? Did Slade know.

“ _ You’re not going anymore?”  _ His voice gave away no emotion, no suspicion, nothing that could help Dick formulate his next lie.

He tried anyway.

“I’m just taking a break,” Dick replied, leaning back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. “I need to get away from everything and I thought it might help to go on vacation.”

“ _ When do you leave?” _

Dick glanced at the calendar. “I have five more days until my flight,” he replied.  _ Good.  _ he thought to himself. Keep going. Tell him its a place with no cell service, that way you don’t have to text him. “I don’t have any cell service there.”

_ “Pity _ ,” Slade drawled.  _ “How long will you be there?” _

“A week.”

Slade hummed. “ _ Keep in touch, little bird,”  _ he murmured.

Dick laughed. “I’ll keep in touch until my flight,” he replied. “How’s that?”

_ “Well enough, I suppose. Have you been sleeping?” _

No. “Of course.”

_ “And what are you doing now?” _

“Updating my emotions journal, like my counselor told me to,” Dick answered easily. If it wasn’t so selfish, he would have awarded himself a mental gold star and pat on the back for being able to lie to Slade Wilson so easily.

_ “Be safe, Pretty bird,”  _ Slade said softly, voice gentle in a way Dick didn't think he’d ever heard.

“I will,” Dick said, hoping Slade couldn’t hear how his voice cracked. “I promise.”

He hung up before turning back to Damian’s letter, putting pen to paper. He had motivation now. As useless as it might be, he knew what he wanted to say.

_ Not much longer now. You won’t bother them for much longer. _

 

One week later.

He fell.


End file.
